


I Could’ve Sworn I was Telling the Truth When I Told You I Didn’t Miss You

by blackeyedqueen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief, Guilt, No Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2542856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackeyedqueen/pseuds/blackeyedqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Thinking of Ruby is not avoidable."</p>
<p>Written for the prompt, "could you write something about one of these days in which Sam thinks of her?" except focuses more on Sam missing Ruby in general.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could’ve Sworn I was Telling the Truth When I Told You I Didn’t Miss You

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr (wolfalecki)
> 
> Title taken from the book _I Wrote This For You_

Thinking of Ruby is not avoidable. Luckily, Sam is always very good at hiding how he feels, keeping himself distracted, and keeping Dean from noticing that anything is off. He’s always researching, always working, always making sure he and Dean stay focused on whatever hunt they’re working on or problem they’re trying to fix.  
It’ll hit him in the weirdest times. Sometimes, just a drop of the word demon and Ruby flits across his mind. Anytime they stay in a motel, there can be a certain creak in a floorboard or a door hinge, and he forgets everything for just a second and almost expects her to be there when he looks up.

A lot of times, it’s her knife. They use it in every hunt, use it to kill every demon they find. They never bring her up once. But Sam feels the heavy weight of nostalgia as he wraps his hand around the hilt, and for the briefest moment he’s somewhere else; training in a field, skinny dipping in a river, fucking on a cheap mattress with her blood on his lips. But he shakes it off, always can when they’ve got a demon in their clutches that needs taken care of. It’s always so easy to snap out of it when there’s something else there to take priority over her memory.

But sometimes it’s rolling over on a hard, creaky mattress in the dead of night and expecting her to be there, and that’s when it really fucks him up.

He’ll be on the cusp of sleep, barely awake from a nightmare, and he’ll turn to her out of reflex so she can smooth her hands in his hair and shush him and relax him back into sleep. Or he’ll be bleary eyed with a hard dick and he swears he can smell her next to him so he’ll turn to shove his face in her hair, to roam his hands over her body, to touch her, to taste her.

But he’s greeted by nothing but an extra pillow and cold sheets. And then everything comes back into focus and there’s nothing but darkness, and a ticking clock that just gets louder and louder, and a soft snore from just over on the other bed.

He always contemplates getting up, going somewhere, doing something, and usually he does. But then there are nights when his body is heavy and exhausted and needs to lay there.

It’s all so fucked up, because it wasn’t always so twisted. The days would be dark and the lack of Dean would always weigh on him, but Ruby could lighten it all up. It wasn’t just the demon blood. It wasn’t just training to avenge his brother and kill Lilith. It was someone to watch crappy TV with. It was someone to keep him focused. It was someone to crack a joke. It was someone to hold and be held by. It was someone who kept him alive. And how could he hate her for that? How could he hate her for being so much for him?

But of course she used him. Everyone does, everyone always has. She molded him and twisted him and he let Lucifer out and he can’t fucking believe he has the nerve to actually miss her. He can’t believe he can wake up in the middle of night and think of her and actually be sad about how it all turned out, that it wasn’t real.

He lays in bed and plays it all out again until he doesn’t know up or down and he can almost feel her fingertips on his skin and god, it feels so familiar and good and he aches for it. He aches for a chance to see her, to feel her. And the ask her why. And ask if any of it was real. Was it? Because for him, it fucking was, and the weight of it all is almost enough to crush him. And he thinks it actually might, that he might break down here in this random bed and spill every ounce of his frustration into the pillow. But then the light in the room starts to change and the birds can finally be heard and Dean’s rolling over on the other bed, seeking him out, asking if he slept well.

He says he slept well enough. Cheap mattresses, you know? And Dean understands, gets up, heads for the shower. The room is getting brighter, he clock isn’t as loud, and after a scalding cup of coffee, Sam will be good for a run.

Things are moving now. Distractions are rolling in. Sam welcomes them with tired arms and a heavy sigh.


End file.
